Comfort Cake
by a-few-of-these-verses
Summary: A series of short fics in which Mycroft receives cake from various characters. The stories range from kid!lock to post-Reichenbach and can be read in any order.
1. Regret

Mycroft Holmes was having a bad day. To be fair, all of his days were awful lately. The last two months were living hell. The publicity surrounding his brother's death caused his superiors to lose their trust in him. All of the whispers and gossip made him retreat to the Diogenes Club more often. The mere sound of a violin made him sick. Though he never mentioned it out loud, Mycroft missed his little brother.

He'd told himself that it wasn't his fault that Sherlock died, but that regret and self-loathing clouded his thoughts. Mycroft couldn't let it go. His nights were haunted by the faces of Sherlock and Moriarty. John hadn't spoken to him since the funeral. In his life filled with solitude, he had never felt more alone.

Mycroft was in his office, sorting paperwork when Anthea knocked on the door. "Sir," she said, handing him a white box, "this for you." Mycroft opened the box, nearly dropping it when he looked inside. The chocolate cake itself was normal enough. It was what was frosted on top that alarmed him.

Frosted in cool blue letters were three words:

'Forget the diet.'


	2. Eat Your Heart Out

Mycroft scanned through the newspaper, finding nothing worth his attention. Of course, his attention was elsewhere at the moment: international assassins were moving to Baker Street, and the jury was to decide Moriarty's fate today. He shut his eyes and drummed his fingers on his desk. The jury could be out for hours, or days, or-

_Ring. _Mycroft's eyes opened to the sound of his phone. _Ring._  
>"Hello?" he answered.<p>

"Not guilty," the caller said before hanging up.

Not guilty... The evidence was all there, but the jury found him not guilty. Mycroft put his head in his hands, sinking into his chair. The man was a criminal mastermind, for God's sake. There had to be something that was overlooked...

"Sir, this came for you," Anthea said as she walked into the office, a brown box in her hands.

Mycroft sat up. "What is it?"

"It's a thank you gift," Anthea replied, "Or at least that's what the card says."

The small card did in fact say 'Thank You'. Mycroft opened the lid and found a small spice cake. He'd been so faithful to his diet lately, but the cake wasn't that large. He would eat one piece, and only one.

Mycroft cut into the cake and took a bite. It was decadently delicious. It would be a shame to let the rest of the cake be wasted. Would it ruin his diet to eat a second helping? He cut off another piece, but before he could raise his fork to his mouth, he saw something white in the corner. He brushed away some of the cake, and the mysterious object began to look like paper. Mycroft rolled his eyes. This is something that his brother would do. Hide a note in a perfectly good cake instead of calling him like a normal person.

Mycroft unfolded the note and felt the air around him grow cold.

_Thanks so much for all of your help. I couldn't have done it without you._

_Eat your heart out. ;)_

_-JM_

"Anthea! Arrange for Dr. Watson to meet with me at the Diogenes Club immediately!"


	3. Happy Birthday, Mycroft

It was Mycroft Holmes's birthday, and as always, he was hoping for a peaceful day. His work day was quiet and uneventful. He had a few well-wishers, but he was kept in relative solitude. His evening, however, was anything but peaceful.

Mycroft was reading his evening paper when the doorbell rang. He rolled his eyes, dreading the upcoming events.

"Happy Birthday, Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson said as she walked through the door. She gave him a one armed hug, as she carried a platter in her hands. "Nobody should be alone on their birthday."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft answered, giving her a polite smile as he took the platter. "Are you just dropping this off, or-"

"Oh don't be silly," she interrupted, motioning outside. "Boys! Get over here!"

Mycroft lightly chuckled as Sherlock and John shuffled into his home. "Happy Birthday, Mycroft," John said, shaking his free hand.

"Yes, happy birthday," Sherlock echoed. "Was your day as dull and plain as you'd hoped it would be?"

"Almost," Mycroft said. "Come in, come in."

He led them into the dining room before retreating to his kitchen for plates and silverware. When he returned, a layered frosted cake awaited him on the platter.

"Mrs. Hudson, that looks wonderful," he began. "However, with my recent eating habits-"

"Yes, we wouldn't want you to ruin your diet," Sherlock interrupted.

"Don't worry, dear," said Mrs. Hudson, "I know all about the diet. It's sugar free."

Mycroft gave Sherlock a look before turning to his brother's housekeeper. "Thank you."

"Shouldn't we light the candles?" John asked, holding matches.

"I'm afraid with my age, we'd risk burning the place down," said Mycroft bemusingly.

"That's not possible, we'd need at least ten more candles to do that," Sherlock countered.

"Right, well, I'm going to light these," John said, striking a match. After a few minutes, and a few curses due to John nearly burning himself, the candles were lit, and the lights were dimmed.

"Make a wish, Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson prompted.

He shut his eyes and thought about all of the meaningless things that could be wished for. There was only one wish that stood amongst the rest, and he wasn't positive that it could come true. Still, it was worth a shot...

_I wish that Sherlock could stay safe._

Mycroft took a deep breath and blew. When he opened his eyes, the candles were nearly extinguished. One candle in the center of the cake was still lit.

"Sorry about your luck," John said, turning the lights back on as Mycroft blew out the little flame. "But it was just a wish."

"Yes," Mycroft said, giving him a weak smile. "It was just a wish."

The cake was delicious. Mycroft had never had a sugar-free cake that tasted so rich. The velvety textures melted in his mouth, and he wasn't ashamed to take seconds.

"It was excellent, Mrs. Hudson," he said after eating his third helping. "That may have been one of the best cakes I've ever had in my life."

Mrs. Hudson giggled. John suddenly put his arm in his coat pocket with a perplexed look. His appearance then turned into one of relief.

"I thought I forgot your present," John said as he handed him a small box.

"I think the multiple cases that I've solved for you recently will substitute for your gift," said Sherlock, giving Mycroft a card.

Mycroft opened the generic card and was surprised when a list of names fell out of it. "They're the names of cold cases," Sherlock explained. "Do you think you could find the files for me?"

"We'll see," Mycroft said, opening the box. A pair of diamond cufflinks sparkled and reflected the room's light.

"It's really from both of us," John said quietly, "no matter what Sherlock says."

"Thank you, John," Mycroft smiled as the clock struck eight.

"I think that's our queue to leave," Sherlock stood from his seat.

"What?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "But it's still so early."

"No, Mrs. Hudson, I think my brother wants to regain his privacy and quiet, isn't that right, Mycroft?"

"Certainly," he nodded. "It's been a pleasant evening. Thank you for everything." He went to give Mrs. Hudson the remainder of the cake, but was told that it was his present from her, and that she only wanted the platter back. He and John exchanged pleasant farewells, and was reminded by Sherlock to look into the cold cases as he was very bored.

Mycroft was just shutting the door when he heard Sherlock and John's laughter ring out in the night.

"Sherlock, that was the box that you told me to wrap?"

"Yes, obviously it was."

"So you really did give him the cufflinks from the Reichenbach case..."

"I wasn't wearing them! You weren't wearing them! And it was better than giving him the tie pins."


	4. The Delivery

The intercom was buzzing again. Mycroft leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples and wished that it would stop. _Buzz. _The day had been hellish. _Buzz_. If he didn't press the button, the annoyance wouldn't end.

"Yes?" he answered, hoping it was nothing urgent.

"There's a delivery man here at the front door for you," Anthea said, her voice distorted through the machine. Mycroft's brows furrowed. He hadn't ordered anything lately.

"Does he appear to be safe?"

"Yes, sir. He's got paperwork to prove it, and his business is reliable."

"Alright, send him in."

_Click_.

One minute passed before Anthea was at his door. She was followed by a delivery man carrying a box. "Mr. Holmes," she gestured to Mycroft.

"Thank you," said the man. Anthea nodded, and as soon as she left, he shut and locked the door. Mycroft felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"Tell me, brother," he whispered, "how did you do it?"

The man paused at the door. "What?" he asked.

Mycroft's heartbeat increased while his breath shortened. "How did you survive the fall?"

Sherlock turned around to face his brother. "How could you tell it was me?"

"I asked you a question, Sherlock-"

"And so did I!" Sherlock walked to Mycroft's desk, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. "How did you know it was me?"

"Oh please, I've always been able to dismantle your disguises," Mycroft said, a smile creeping onto his lips. "Did you really think that I wouldn't see past the blond wig, fake nose, and stomach padding? It's been a year, Sherlock, but I know my brother. Besides, most delivery men don't lock the door. If you were trying to be conspicuous, you succeeded."

Sherlock gave a rare smile. "This is for you," handing Mycroft the box. "I wasn't sure what your eating habits have been like lately, but I do know that you've always fancied cake."

"Thank you," Mycroft said as he looked inside. The rum cake was giving off a rich scent. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he looked at his brother again. "Does John know that you're alive?"

Sherlock went very still. "No," he said quietly. "He can't know yet. My work isn't complete."

"And what is your work?"

"Something that I- well, I need your help and resources."

"Ah, well, I'll help you if you tell me everything."

The younger Holmes nodded. "I will."

Mycroft studied his brother carefully. The disguise hid much of his own body, but he could tell that his thin brother had become even skinnier. There were marks on his hands that said hard work and toil. Dark circles around his eyes signified lack of sleep. This past year hadn't been easy for Sherlock. "It's good to see you alive, Sherlock," Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock grinned. "We were never the sentimental type, Mycroft, so let's not try to act like we are. You wanted to know how I survived the jump, and I'm assuming that you want to know why I jumped. I'll tell you everything."


	5. The Cafe

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Mycroft entered the café and sat at a table near a window. The place was moderately busy, couples chatting away over their lunch, an old man silently drinking coffee while staring at a newspaper. He looked at his watch. He was early for this meeting. Mycroft looked out the window and saw his companion pass the café and walk through the door.

"Mycroft," John said, extending his hand. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

Mycroft shook John's hand and smiled. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

The doctor nodded. "Yeah, I'm just going to get some coffee. I'll be right back."

Mycroft studied John as he went to the counter. More lines had gathered on his face over the past eighteen months. His limp had returned, but had disappeared again. John was eating well, and the soles of his shoes told Mycroft that he'd been taking a lot of walks. Mycroft also noted the light colored hairs from the knees down on John's trousers. He'd been spending time with a medium sized dog.

John returned with a small cheesecake. "Here you go," he said, handing him the plate. "I haven't forgotten."

"Thank you," said Mycroft as he took the cake. "But you must have forgotten that I'm on a diet."

"A diet that you never stick to." There was a slight twinkle in John's eyes, something that hadn't been present since he shared a flat with Sherlock.

"So, what do I owe the pleasure?" Mycroft asked after taking a bite of the heavenly dessert. "We haven't met since my brother's funeral."

John nodded. "There's somebody that I want you to meet-"

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah, and don't pretend that you haven't seen her before. I know that you still follow me around with the cameras."

Mycroft smiled. "You're very observant, John. Does Ms. Morstan know-"

"No," John shook his head, "I think it's best that she doesn't know that the British government follows her around London."

"Yes, and here she comes now."

Mary Morstan stepped into the café, grinning when she spotted John. "Hello, dear," she said, taking a seat next to them.

"Mary, I'd like you to meet Mycroft Holmes," said John. "Mycroft, this is Mary, my-"

"Fiancée," Mycroft finished, staring at the ring on Mary's finger. The sound of crashing plates stopped him from staring longer.

"Yes, I asked her this morning," John said.

"And it was very sweet," added Mary. "I've been very lucky to have him."

"When will the wedding be?"

The engaged couple looked at each other, their hands entwining. "We haven't discussed that yet," John confessed. "Six to eight months?"

"Something like that. John, are you going to ask him-"

"Oh, right!" John exclaimed. "Mycroft, I- um, I know we haven't really gotten on lately, but, um, I want to put that behind us. Would you mind being my best man?"

Mycroft was quiet. "It's obvious that I'm not your first choice, John."

John's smile had disappeared. "I know. Sherlock isn't here though, is he?"

"John, I'm flattered, but-"

"Think it over," interrupted John. "Don't say no just yet." He looked at his phone. "Mary, what time did you say we were meeting your cousin?"

"Five o'clock," she answered. "We should probably be going. It was really lovely meeting you, Mycroft."

"Yes, it was nice to meet you too, Ms. Morstan," said Mycroft. "Tell me, what kind of dog do you have?"

Mary froze. "A labrador retriever puppy. How did you know?"  
>"There are dog hairs on your fiancé's trousers," he explained.<p>

"That's incredible," she laughed. "John said you were smart, but I didn't think you were that smart. I'm just going to hail a cab, dear, so I'll let you say goodbye."

"You knew it was a lab," John said, standing up. "You've seen him."

"But I couldn't let her know about the cameras."

"Right. Mycroft, think it over. Please."

He nodded. "Thank you for the cake. Congratulations on your engagement."

Mycroft watched the couple get into a cab. This was the happiest John had been since the fall. After a quick scan of the café, he smiled. "Sherlock, you can talk to me now. They're gone."

The old man looked up. "I was wondering when you would notice me."

"I saw you the moment I entered," Mycroft answered. "I can tell when a beard is fake."

"Well John obviously can't," said Sherlock as he walked to his brother.

"Yes, but you did draw some attention to yourself when you dropped that plate. What did you think of Ms. Morstan?"

"Oh please, it's not like I haven't seen her before. She didn't look as pale today as she's been lately. I'm sure you noticed."

Mycroft chuckled. "Yes, we've both kept a dutiful eye on your blogger." He took another bite of his cake before continuing. "Sherlock, do finish your work before the wedding. You're the man that John really wants as his best man, and you should be there."

"I'll try my best, but weddings are so dull."  
>"Sherlock."<p>

"I'll try to have the work completed before the wedding."


	6. Baking

_This is the first time that I've written kid!lock. None of the ideas that I'd had ever worked out, but introducing cake into the story fixed my problems immediately._

* * *

><p>"Mycroft, can you help me in the kitchen?"<p>

Mycroft looked up from his schoolwork and found his eight-year-old brother wearing an apron and holding a bowl. "Sherlock, I don't really have time for this right now. I have to study maths. Just wait for Mummy to get home, and don't touch anything."

Sherlock scowled at him and sulked out of the office. "You're never any fun!"

Mycroft had only begun to study again when he heard the sound of clanking metal. "Sherlock, what are you doing? I told you not to touch anything!"

"I'm baking!" answered Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked to the door. He could put an end to this nonsense now, but if he did, then Sherlock would never learn anything. He was curious about everything when he was Sherlock's age, and he was always annoyed when his parents put an end to his own experiments. "Just be careful, brother," he called before shutting the door.

One hour later, and the scent of chocolate was seeping through the cracks of the door. Mycroft raised his head, smelling the heavenly aroma. If his guessing was correct, Sherlock had baked a chocolate cake.

"Sherlock?" he asked as he stepped into the kitchen. Sherlock sat at the table, flour in his dark curls. A small cake was in the center of the table. One slice was already served on a plate.

"Why don't you sit down, Mycroft, and let me know how it tastes?" Sherlock gestured to the plate.

Mycroft sat opposite his brother and studied the cake. It smelled delightful, and it didn't appear to be burned. The crumbs were of a normal size, and the coloring was good. He lifted his fork to his mouth and took a bite. The cake was perfect.

"So, what do you think?" asked Sherlock as Mycroft relished the cake.

"It's actually very good," Mycroft said between bites. "Well done, brother."

"You've found nothing wrong with it at all?"

"No," he said slowly, not wanting to hear whatever Sherlock had to say next.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, leaving his seat. "Now we know that cooking worms into cakes has no effect on its flavor or texture!"

Mycroft dropped his fork onto his plate. "Excuse me?"

"I believe you heard me the first time," said Sherlock. "I'm going to be in the park. Bye, Mycroft!"


	7. Wedding Cake

Marriage was something that Mycroft had avoided his entire life. He'd never seen the point, and he was comfortable in his bachelorhood. Still, he went to his colleagues' weddings. If he was invited to one, he would politely accept. During the dull service, he would pass the time by decoding the life story of everyone around him. It was the wedding receptions that Mycroft looked forward to attending. After congratulating the newlyweds, he would help himself to a piece of the delicious wedding cake.

The wedding that was about to take place today was different, however, and while Mycroft tried to feel indifferent, he couldn't help but feel happy about the occasion. The crowd was small and intimate; Mycroft knew the majority of the attendees. Lestrade and Molly Hooper sat next to him.

The organist began to play the wedding march, and the guests stood. Sherlock winked at his brother as he and Mrs. Hudson walked down the aisle. The groom at the alter was beaming as his future spouse took their place next to him. The ceremony commenced.

Mycroft stood in front of the three-layer wedding cake, his mouth watering. He knew it was proper etiquette to wait until it was cut by the newlyweds, but his stomach was protesting that custom.

"Here," a voice behind Mycroft said. He turned and found Sherlock holding a cupcake. "The cake won't be cut for another half-hour."

"Ah, well that's unfortunate," Mycroft answered, taking the cake. "I have to leave soon for a meeting with the Greek Ambassador."

"Thank you for being here," said Sherlock. "I know with your schedule-"

"Nonsense, brother. It's an honour to be here."

Sherlock smiled. "I need to go find John-"

"Yes, of course. I'm not entirely sure what this meeting with the Ambassador is about, but I may be calling for your assistance soon. Give my regards to John."

The younger Holmes nodded and left the table. Mycroft took a bite of the cupcake. The vanilla cake blended with the almond frosting, creating euphoria for his tastebuds. The sound of high heels walking towards him broke his attention to the dessert.

"Mycroft," Sherlock's landlady drew him into a hug. "Thank you so much for coming. I know you have a busy schedule, but I'm so happy that you were here."

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm honoured that I was invited," Mycroft said. "Oh, my apologies. That's not your name anymore, is it, Mrs. Kopp?"


	8. The Diogenes Club

Mycroft couldn't help but grin when the Diogenes Club doormen dragged Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade into his room.

"Get off me!" Lestrade said when one uncovered his mouth. Mycroft nodded, and the two men released their grip on the detective inspector. A third doorman walked into the room carrying a small cardboard box.

"We've checked to make sure it's safe," he explained, handing it to Lestrade.

"Of course it's safe!" Lestrade argued.

"That will be all, gentlemen, thank you," said Mycroft. The doormen each gave him a brief nod before exiting.

"What kind of place is this?" asked Lestrade, taking a seat across from him.

"A peaceful one."

"Well, I don't exactly work in a peaceful environment, do I? Doesn't the quiet drive you mad?"

"No, unlike you, I prefer to work in a place where everything is scheduled. However, I do notice that your life has taken an unscheduled turn. No ring."

Greg shifted in his seat. "Kate and I are getting a divorce."

"I assume that this decision was made after your holiday. There is a distinctive tan line in the shape of a ring on your finger."

"I swear you're just like Sherlock."

Mycroft smirked. "Actually, I'm better. Speaking of my dear brother, how was Baskerville?"

"Well I didn't expect to be drugged in a chemical minefield, but that's what I got."

"Yes, I heard."

"Sherlock was incredible, though, solving it. That case is over a decade old, and he cracked it like it was brand new. I don't know where we'd be without him." He paused and looked down at the box in his hands. "Oh yeah, I forgot. This is for you."

Mycroft took the box from Lestrade and opened it. "It's a birthday cake."  
>"Yeah, it's for you."<p>

"But my birthday isn't for another month."

"Really?" The detective inspector's cheeks flushed. "Must have put the wrong date in my calender. Happy un-birthday, then."

"Thank you. And considering how you've been correct about the date before, I presume that the stress of the divorce is getting to your head. You are, after all, wearing two different colored socks."

"I'm what?" Lestrade looked down at his feet. "Oh."

"These things are very stressful for everybody, especially your children. Do try to get some sleep. You look like you've had some restless nights."

"Watching somebody get blown up by a mine two nights ago didn't help."

"Yes, I'm sure it didn't."

Lestrade stood up from his chair. "I've got to get back to the Yard. Enjoy the cake. I think you said that you liked lemon, right?"

"I do. Good luck with everything. I know it's going to be difficult."

"Yeah. I'll see you around, Mycroft. Happy un-birthday!"

Lestrade left the room, leaving Mycroft alone with his un-birthday cake.


	9. Devil's Food Cake

Mycroft had just returned home from a meeting with the Israeli Prime Minister when he knew that something was wrong. The rug leading to the living room was crumpled in a corner, and he saw crumbles of dirt around it. As he walked, Mycroft found woman's footprints, and followed them into the kitchen. He held his breath as he turned the corner, but was startled nonetheless at finding a woman sitting on his kitchen counter. A woman who was supposed to be dead.

"Ms. Adler?"

She looked up from her cell phone and smiled. "Hello Mycroft. I hope you don't mind that I brought you something. I think that even the Iceman deserves a piece of cake every now and then."

He slowly walked towards her. "But that's impossible."

"Not impossible. Just highly improbable."

"I heard that you died."

"But I didn't, did I?"

"How?"

"Your brother."

"Ah." Mycroft was now standing next to his former foe. "How did he do it?"

"He found and rescued me in Pakistan."

"I'm sure that you've heard the news that my brother died two years ago."

"Oh, but we both know that that's not true. He came to you for money to leave the country and travel."

"And now I assume that he took you along."

"Yes, he did. We quite enjoyed Asia. The Dalai Lama is a dear."

"Where's my brother now?"

"France. I came back to take care of a few matters, and thought that I'd drop by to say thank you for the lovely vacation."

Mycroft smirked. "Of course. What's in the box?"

"I told you earlier," Irene said as she opened the cardboard box next to her. "Devil's food cake."

"I happen to remember Sherlock telling me that you drugged him once," Mycroft said as he took two plates out of a cupboard.

"Now why would I want to drug you?" Irene asked, sweeping a finger across the cake's frosting. She began to lick it off in a provocative manner. "It's safe."

"Yes, I suppose it is." Mycroft cautiously sliced a piece and handed it to Irene.

"Oh no, I can't," Irene said, putting a hand up to refuse the cake. "I have a dinner to get to. I don't want to spoil my appetite."

Mycroft shrugged and took a bite. The cake was rich and moist. He could taste a hint of coffee mixed into the cocoa. "It's very good."

"It's my secret recipe," Irene said, clicking her blood red nails on the countertop.

He had eaten about half of his piece when he knew something wasn't right. The cake began to taste too sweet, and his eyes watered. Mycroft felt the floor begin to sway under him, and he clutched the counter tightly.

"Everything alright?" Irene asked innocently.

"Yes, I think so-" Mycroft felt his head drop violently. He looked up, and everything was blurry. "Drugged."

"Very good," Irene cooed, nudging him softly. The movement made him lose his balance, and Mycroft found himself on the floor. "You see, you have some of my things. I'd like to get them back. Where are they?"

"No," Mycroft gasped. He felt nauseous and disoriented as he tried to reach for his phone.

"I don't think so," Irene said, towering above him. She pushed him back to the floor. "I'm going to ask you again. You have a file dedicated to me. Where is it?"

He shook his head and Irene sighed. "Do you really want to play rough? This could be so easy if you would just tell me where the file is. If I was an ordinary person, I suppose I would look for it in your office. However, I don't think that you would leave it in such a public place. I nearly brought down the British government, and you would want to keep a token of my demise. It's here in your home, presumably in your desk." She smiled. "I'm just going to collect what belongs to me, and then I'll say goodbye. Don't move from this spot."

Mycroft heard Irene's heels click out of the kitchen. He couldn't have moved even if he'd wanted to. His vision grew worse by the second, and he felt the feeling leave his fingers. The clicks grew louder again, and he heard The Woman bend next to him.

"Thank you, Iceman," she whispered into his ear before kissing him on the cheek.

Mycroft had one final thought before passing out on his kitchen floor. He was never eating Devil's Food cake again.


End file.
